


Only Enough For One

by slightlyjillian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Hockey, Second Chances, complicated friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:33:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Nichol had only two vices: starting fights on the ice and platinum blondes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Enough For One

Growing up, Scott Nichol had no siblings. He ate breakfast at the table by himself while his mother watched the morning talk shows. His father had an early commute when he wasn't on business out-of-town. Aside from school, Nichol's primary contact with anyone was time spent in the hockey leagues.

He didn't often think of the day sunshine had struck the fridged build up around his heart. Making way for the Peewee practice by hurrying off the ice and glancing over to see some little guy with a lavender vest like a school uniform. Except it wasn't.

Quatre Winner chose to dress that way, and if anyone had anything to say about that--well Quatre never heard about it. Nichol always got to them first.

Fifteen years later, Nichol played pro. His nose had been broken during a rookie season brawl and reset so whenever he tried to say the younger man's name the flesh pinched leaving him unable to breathe in that moment. "C'mon, Quatre..." The argument died in his burning lungs.

"Nichol, enough. I'll manage the books. So here's the new plan. We'll start you later," Quatre stated stubbornly, stopping only long enough to offer the humiliating truce. "Not this weekend like we announced, but after this blows over. I needed you... we needed you to play smart. Not to start fights during a practice and _with your own teammates_, of all people."

Nichol let his head tilt to the side watching Quatre close the door behind him leaving Nichol alone in the grand office overlooking the ice. Quatre loved the game, but he didn't have the speed needed to play pro. So he bought a team and, at least Nichol had hoped, Quatre bided his time until he could acquire his childhood friend in a trade.

He didn't often think of the day sunshine had melted his heart, nonetheless he ruefully noticed the cold creeping back inside.

***

At some point, he should have become immune to the chill temperature, but Nichol discerned the difference by subtle degrees. He'd cleaned up and stopped at the grocery store on his way to the hotel. No home yet, but what was home for Nichol except sitting alone at tables?

He'd only been back a few weeks since the public announcement that the _badboy_ of pro-hockey was returning to the city of his childhood. He had grunted his way through a few press meetings with Quatre cheerfully fielding all the questions with proper answers. His hand had casually reached out to grip Nichol's shoulder. That moment, the funny sensation in his stomach, had been the closest thing to what Nichol imagined _home_ could be like.

"You do that too?" A woman's voice interrupted his analysis of the elaborate selection of beverages. The temperature seemed to warm somewhat as she flashed him a brilliant smile. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail and even in the awful lighting she seemed to shine untainted and more magnificently.

"Do what too?" Nichol muttered. He shifted his arms to better balance the pack of beer, fingers holding onto the corners of an assortment of chip bags.

She pointed at him. "Come in for just a few things so you think, _'why get a basket_?' Then next thing you know... your arms are full."

"Oh," he said, uncertainly glancing between his awkward bundle and her sparkling eyes. He wanted her then. Calculating, he indulged an irrational desire to plan their future together. She would be a fan of the sport, suddenly recognizing him. He'd get her tickets to a game then take her to dinner. Afterward, she'd love him and they'd have a house where no one watched television in the morning and they'd never stop having kids.

Instead, she picked up a dark, over-sized bottle. Pointing at it, she said, "See you around?" and left.

Nichol looked back at the alcohol and his plan to get completely trashed diminished. He meticulously returned every item to its place. Unraveling his love-sick dream in the process.

Later he stared into the hotel liquor dispenser, bottles with only enough for one.

***

"You're a cheap trade, Nichol." Zechs crossed what had been, until then, an empty locker room. He leaned into Nichol's space where he hastily pushed his belongings inside with little care. He'd intended to get out without a repeat of the prior day's confrontation. Zechs continued, "You'll never outplay Yuy, but they couldn't afford you both and we needed a center."

"Miss your boyfriend?" Nichol sneered. His nose comfortably taking the familiar shift of muscles over a bitter grin. Fighting, shoving, tripping on the ice had been the only way he communicated with Zechs Marquise thus far. Not the best way to interact with a teammate, but Nichol already had somewhat of a reputation.

"Doesn't matter." Zechs shifted his weight, closer. "_Shouldn't matter_ how you feel about another person during ice play." He closed in, never touching but physically cutting off all escape. The purpose of the threat changed. Heat resonating between them. Zechs' expression changed to one of frank appraisal.

Then the locker cut into Nichol's back. He instinctively reacted against the sharp edge putting himself forward, chest to chest with his antagonist.

"Nichol!" Quatre's indignant voice had a shrill edge. Standing in the doorway, his hands were full of tightly gripped ledgers and his eyes were wide. Nichol knew what it had to look like.

"Hey Boss," Zechs said cheerfully, mild and harmless like a drifting cloud. "We still don't know what you see in this guy, but he sure does blush easily." Then turning back to Nichol, Zechs added in a low voice. "Or maybe our boss knows that already?"

Nichol flinched, shoving Zechs back but with only enough force to _get away_ from the discerning look in those blue eyes.

"Nichol? Hey, Nichol..." Quatre said again through the sounds of Zechs leaving.

Nichol closed his eyes and used a long exhale to hide away from Quatre's disappointment. Then Nichol found a familiar weight pulling down on his shoulder.

"Hey, look at me." Quatre insistently held his gaze while Nichol tried distracting himself with a mental inventory of his sore muscles. Then the shared silence grew longer between them. The wordless moment filled with imagined conversations and promises and half-guessed intentions.


End file.
